Insert Witty Detective Story Here
by Tribble Master
Summary: She rolled into my office like a hockey puck in the fourth quarter...


Disclaimer: Idea mine, plot mine, characters mi-oh wait it says here I have to type 'not mine' DARNIT! Not nine, boo-hoo, sob, sob...

I haver never, ever read Sam Spade, I got the idea from Prarie Hom Companion. Also, any negitive tribble coments are the characters not** mine. **I mean, like why would any have a grudge agains the little guys? (Klingons excluded)

**This is a detective story. Kinda, sorta, not really, but yeah. You can only read this if it's 1940, everything is in black and white, you read it in a deep voice, and you have a piano playing. I am not asking for much here!**

_Okay…let's begin…_

She rolled into my life like a hockey puck in the forth quarter. Quick with a determined destination.. From what I could see, it looked like she had beamed down from the U.S.S. Enterprise; mini skirt, hairdo, and all. Drearily I began my monologue, "Hiya tootsie the name is…"

"James Kirk," she interrupted, "I read it on the library tapes."

I adjusted my hat. "You know my name? But call me Jim. Now since you obviously know I'm a private eye…"

"Of course." She added.

I glared at her. "Do you mind? I'm giving the commentary. So if you read the "library tapes" you must know I hate mysteries they give me a bellyache. And right now I got a beauty. What's your name? And what's the low down on this caper?" I quickly demanded.

Her expression melted as fast as a pat of butter in the oven. Now nervously anxious she stuttered, "They're dead Jim." She continued by extracting a brown fur ball from behind her back.

"What's the trouble," I cautiously asked.

"TRIBBLES!" She explained, "they're all dead except this one."

I could see this case was going as sour as a lemon. I passed her a tissue a drizzle as sudden as a Hawii rainstorm poured down her cheeks. "He's sick" She pointed out.

I was wondering how one would be able to detrimine this. The tribble (or whatever it was) just lied in her hand , sagging like a wet mop. There was a faint purr, like a dying S.O.S. signal, emitting from the tribble. It seemed to lift it's head (or butt for all I could tell) at me. As if it were Oliver Twist asking for seconds instead of a second chance at life (A/N Ahhh……) Boy am I a sap.

"Can you help him?" Her words were desprate, like my mother begging for us to try another of her cooking inventions (YECH!) . My heart crumbled like my mother's burnt cookies.

"I'll try," I said. While my hand lurched like an attacking dog for the hypo in my desk, "I'll try."

_

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((((((Supposed to end here, but will go on if I get ten reviws! BWA-HA-HA! Five is okay though….. _

_Actually, Due To Error Here is Part Two))))))))

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_

The poor tribble looked about as dead as my fathers's homemade meat loaf. The hypo was just a calming sedative he was out like a…..oh phooey…like a light, darn that sounded lame!

"Excuse me but don't you think you should be healing the tribble, not narrating it?" The ensign said from the corner.

"What ever babs," I said looking back at her. There wasn't much hope for this little guy/ girl/ it, but I was working hard. She leaned over to my desk a little bit, and DARN, that dress isn't low cut for nothing!

"Well, handsome, I may know everything about you, but what do you know about me?" She asked idly striking conversation.

I was busy in my work; let me tell you I was researching. The topic though is debatable. I stared back, "Okay Miss, what is your elusive name?"

"Nancy Carter.(1)"

"Fine." Was my joyfully sarcastic reply. Just then my lap top bleeped a little buzz. My coffee was done. Oh-there was one more thing, the test results I had feed it burped out. It was a definite start.

"Meepn'!" Cried the ecstatic tribble, thereby meaning _You fool! Share the damn cure!_ His menacing purrs reinforced this quite successfully. As an after thought he/ she/ it added, "Meepalicious." Aren't tribbles just _sooo_oooo intelligent?

"Are you sure they have no teeth?" I asked as hesitant as carrot starring back at the most viscous of predators-the rabbit.

Ignoring me she spoke over my shoulder, "Sugar, spice and everything nice?" The three words blared in neon green on my lap top commputer. It was the cure.

"Got any sugar," I asked looking up.

"I like **salt**," she commented.

"Well, looks like what we need is a spoonful of Sugar, Spice, and Everything nice. Sorry, no salt."

She snarled.

"What-EVER. Okay, let's see what I got in my desk here," I said while letting my hand roam through the wild lands of last year's banana, unmoving papers, old pictures (ahem), but basically I was searching my wood desk.

And I struck gold, or a least some spice. I put it in a little jar I had. It used to be full of baloney like my little sister's excuses. I had also found some scissors. Carefully I took two strands of hair from the tribble (actually, that is Everything Nice right there!) and also added that. Then I sprinkled in some my Gene Rodenberry doll (do I need a reason?), Viagra (for posterity), and surprisingly Nancy added in a rose (for hope). So let's see Spice check, Everything Nice check. Missing: Sugar.

I grabbed two coats and we headed out side.

(_Oooooo, this is such a cliff hanger! should I end it here? Nah, I'm having fun.)_

It was a cold outside and unforgiving as my old school math assignments. As we walked along the streets she picked up some snow, curious. "Salt?" She said as she liked it.

"No, I don't_ think_ so," I snapped while brushing it out of her palm. She gave me a very dirty look. Presently we were so distracted neither of us actually meant to walk into the phone pole, it was about as hard as the laundry with to much starch.

Ow. As I opened my eyes again, the dame and I were booth still flat in front of that cursed pole. Stupid tribble, got lucky, he was back at the office, so he could stay warm, grrrr. Would girls love me if I was fuzzier? Sigh, let me tell you, I only wear the hat to cover up my, gasp, bald spot. As if lady luck was sick of seeing fall (literally) flat on face, there in front of me was the bakery. My eyes lapped this in eagerly, helping Ms. Carter to her feet we both went in.

"Can we have a cup of sugar please?" I asked.

"Sure," said the baker. Then as an after thought, "Two bucks."

I looked to Nancy. "Only credits," she shrugged.

Then how is she supposed to pay me! I am so going to get her…**_later_**. Suppressing anger I paid and we quickly returned to the tribble. It was fluffy, warm, cute, and envied. I was going to strangle the damn thing for putting me through all this.

I added the sugar to our mixture, everything was in order. Yet it did not glow with completeness It was missing something in the Everything Nice department. I added a dollar, and she added a credit. It glowed a little but nope. I reached my hand back to scratch my head in puzzlement, oh shi-te-ocky mushrooms! I accidentally knocked something else in there. Ewww, _chemical X._ Suddenly though the elixir (add sounds of thunder and a flash of lightning here) began to bubble and boil just like a lobster in a boiling pot. Then it sparkled like the mad gleam in the chef's eyes as he stirred the lobster.

Inching towards the spoon full of the stuff in my hand, the tribble made steady progress. He absorbed it readily from the spoon. It began to take effect immediately. His coat glistened, he purred louder and exclaimed , "MEEPERS!" Here meaning; _Golly jee, it works, yippee!_

Smiling at me proudly with the look of a triumphant Barbie , she cupped in her hands the little tribble and the cure. She might have said something, but her communicator interrupted. She answered it quickly, then turned to me and said, "Klingons attacking. Gotta go. Ta-Ta!"

With that she was gone forever in the amber beads of the transporter beam.

Darnit she never paid me!

_**Back on the Entrprise….**_

"Thanks Doctor McCoy, oh here is the five credits I owe you." Nancy said to her ex.

"Nah, just thank you for the cure! It was the least I could do to get you out of there with out having you pay the guy," the _Enterprise's _Chief Medical Officer Drawled.

"Man that fake 'Kilingons are attacking' crap works every time."

The booth laughed and the young tribble purred in good humor. Then the red alert blared and the intercom announced, "THE KLINGONS ARE ATTACKING. MAN BATTLE STATIONS. I REAPETE…"

"I want my money back," Nancy said verycalmly.

END _of another one thought one shot_

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(1) The Man Trap, can you guess what Nancy does? She sucks! Well, on the guys' heads! She's the salt monster (who wears a thong!)! Actually, she did try to off Uhura, but still she killed two guys, one gal, and also went after Kirk. But Spock splapped 'er and McCoy fried 'er! So you see, it all works out... 


End file.
